We were invited to the ‘Peace’,an evening picnic in the grove.Friends gathered under the treessensing a strange sombreness.Reaching up to the branches,too early, no fruit on the trees.We ate the last year’s harvestwith home made barley cakes,under the silver and the greenrustled by the evening breeze,to cool an oppressive day.Clay lamps of oil were lightedas the day descended into dusk.Among the flickering flames,incense and the dancing shadowsthe perfumed air helped usto relax and leave our fears behind.But the partial peace was shatteredas an unwelcome crowd pressed our space.One whom we had missedstepped forward from the moband with a knowing nod reached upand greeted the One with a kissas was his manner and his way.The look of recognition, a smileand with resignation turned,knowing well this need to be.Against our wish and protestthe One, to us, was led away.Despite the further feats and fearsof followers and friendsthere was nothing more to do.To bear the anguish and the pain,for all who’d become one with him,was all there was, with sighs and tears.He was taken away, tied and tried,scourged, hammered and hoisted highthen hung till fading day was nigh.Time as ever was flying fast,although it seemed eternity,asking to take him to burial,sure he was gone, though fast.All had to be cut short at the last,in the grey twilight he was piercedto make quite sure of his passingand in the following delugeas heaven bathed his blooded bodyhe was taken down in hasteand given over to the two,who stood in woe and widows weedsto find a final place of resting.Helpers took him in the same directionas the garden of peace and remembrance.All was quiet save the sobs that night,even the deep moaning from the earthif you could feel it, sense it, hear it.But in the silence, apart from murmurs,the night was long, as those with the giftworked until the mystic moonwas long since gone, giving wayto silver and to purple clouds.The ways of scribing and chanting,praying and pleading.Then healing with handstook their tender time.The wounds were closedbathed again and bound,the process of restoration had begun.As the long night passedthe cold red dawn began to break.Knowing not of this activity,little sleep, but risen early,gathered cloth with oils and herbs,made her way to the garden.Pulling her shawl about her, she wentto perform her last loving task.But this was not as she’d been toldthe garden changed, not new but old.She was worried and confused to findthe space was open, clean and free,never used and left as subterfuge,for others to find and satisfy.She sat among the dry brown grassas herbs and oils all tumbled to the ground.Where could he be she wondered,as all came out of focus in her tearsshe buried her face in his cloth.She remembered his teaching:Those times when he had taughthis friends the mystic art.She wondered, and wonderedyet again, if it was possible.Yet there was a feeling deep insidethat brought an inner knowing,that he was there, somewhere,she could only rest with thatand patiently wait.Wait for news,knowing that someone would come.While the secret few, the only oneswho knew for sure, with touchcould sense the pulse of life,had worked and prayed all night.This ritual continued every daywithin the cool caves of healing.All the while the face was unseenhe had returned to his ownas many came and wentin robes of whiteuntil his lightreturned.But he could not be seenhe could not be recognisedeven by his own,his task was done.When strength had returnedhe was well wrappedin paupers greyto hide within the shadows,and taken by the nightto pastures strange and new,where she with secret fewwere finally told to wait.They waited and they prayed.She remembered:When he was with usorders were unknown,but offerings were madeof love, comfort and healing.Such selflessness and concern,such kindness was never known.Would she ever know those moments againwould she ever hear his soft voiceor his reassuring touch,her hands within his hands.What did he call it ?Ah yes, ‘Namaste’.Memories were her companions nowand in fitful sleep …waking at the slightest sound …dreams brought hopes to life.Fear, the stuff of nightmaresinvaded day dreams too.The frequent thought occurred:‘Did she have a right to hope ?’When everyone said otherwise.Those special moments told her, ‘Yes!’.When he had led the way –to mystic mountainsthrough myriad meditations.Opening the doors and portalsto marbled halls of wisdom.Of magical memories of the earth,bringing future, past and present into one,into the moment, the present moment.In the presence of the Logos,the Word, the Only One.What could she do but wait ?Giving all to the Only One.Hanukah

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Hanukah

Greetings and welcome to my blog. Thank you for your visit which will enable you to find out about me through my writings and poems. I especially hope that you will also find out about yourself.
Love and blessings
Hanukah.

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